


Pull that lever (no, not that one)

by strawberriesandtophats



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crimes & Criminals, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Pencils
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:40:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25980730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberriesandtophats/pseuds/strawberriesandtophats
Summary: He might as well have tried to charm a brick wall.
Relationships: Rufus Drumknott & Moist von Lipwig
Comments: 19
Kudos: 34





	Pull that lever (no, not that one)

Everyone had an internal lever that can be pulled so to influence them to react a certain way. It was only a matter of finding that lever. It was the core of a so many scams that Moist von Lipwig had perfected over the years.

Unearthing someone’s ambition, secret or not, was often a good bet. Charming them, impressing them, frightening them to the point of action were also options that worked very well. Knowing enough information about an acquaintance to keep the chitchat smooth as chocolate mousse in the finest restaurant in town was just a way to make life easier.

Flirtation, now that was something that all con-artists liked to do, as a habit.

That was how Moist von Lipwig moved through the city, flashing passersby his most charming smile as he made his way towards the Post Office. He held onto his winged hat as the wind threatened to snatch it away, careful to walk fast enough so that he didn’t have to make eye-contact with a watchman.

Of course, there were certain people it was unwise to try this sort of thing on. Commander Vimes was one, the Patrician as well. Being around them felt like being more than a few feet in the air on a tightrope with no safety-net on the best of days.

Especially since he’d seen Vetinari delight in pulling several of Vimes’ levers at once by throwing him at the problem that he wished to solve and then watching the chaos that ensured. It was terrifying enough to see Vimes stomp around the city with a that scowl on his face that told Lipwig that he’d hunt him to the ends of the Disc if he ever so much as slipped up once.

Watching as Lord Vetinari confidently pulled at some of Vimes’s levers that a more cautious man would never dare touch, Lipwig had wanted to jump out the nearest window and slide down the pipe before making a run for it. He hadn’t cared that he was in the hallway in the Patrician’s Palace, he just wanted out.

His body had almost started moving on its own accord when he’d seen the horrible smile on Vimes’s face, mirrored on Vetinari’s face.

He did not want to know what they were planning.

And by the looks of it, several Guild Leaders had been thinking of the same thing. Mr. Boggis had looked extremely shifty, glancing at the doors and the windows and everyone else was damn uneasy.

Better to stay away from all that.

But turning around a corner, he was faced with the sight that practically haunted his nightmares. Rufus Drumknott, secretary to the Patrician and head clerk, had a neatly stamped package in his neat little hands.

He was deep in conversation with Lady Sybil, who had clearly placed a swamp dragon on his shoulder. It flapped its wings, claws digging into the blanket that was draped over Drumknott’s shoulder.

Lipwig could barely stand to look at that absolutely featureless suit, just the sort of grey that made you just short of invisible in a crowd. It was utterly boring, just as his plain-looking boots were and his mouse-brown wavy hair.

But the glasses were the worst part, wire-rimmed and nothing fashionable about them at all.

He suspected that Drumknott was a self-made man, just like he was. It was in his high-collared shirts, the ongoing theory he had about socks and stiff undershirts and the smoothness of his skin. Not that he lingered on that.

That would have been inappropriate.

He was engaged, and Drumknott was as close as he got to having a coworker that he just did not get along with. And their relationship was just getting progressively worse. And that there was something about that which fascinated Lipwig, because he was so used to other people liking him if he put some work into charming them enough.

But Drumknott did not.

It had begun with the stolen pencil.

He hadn’t realized that he’d stolen Drumknott’s pencil, at first. It had just been a reflex of sorts.

Doing it again had been a challenge to himself.

Just a little one.

To see if he could rob someone who worked so closely with the Patrician, in the most important office in the city. There had been a thrill too it, no doubt, humming beneath his skin when he twirled the pencil like a baton as soon as he was outside the actual building.

The third time, Drumknott had gripped his wrist and leveled him with a look that was as steady as mountains. And just as liable to crush you alive if you approached them the wrong way.

He’d stepped back, aware of just how all over the place he’d been all his life in contrast to the man in front of him. Moving ceaselessly between towns and countries, shedding fake identities like hair and never ever standing still. In comparison, Drumknott was utterly still.

Lipwig had tried to smile, but instead of yielding or shooting something back as Miss Dearheart did and many others, Drumknott just gave him an unimpressed look.

He might as well have tried to charm a brick wall.

Then Drumknott had raised his chin in contemplation as he adjusted the pencil in his pocket, as if he was thinking about picking Lipwig up by the ankles and shaking him until all the pencils that had gone missing would fall to the floor.

Instead he headed back to his desk, where he meticulously put away a bunch of expensive-looking pink papers into a yellow folder, all while keeping eye-contact with Lipwig, who had begun to fear that the papers were reports about his old aliases and past crimes.

Perhaps even present crimes.

Like the orange he’d stolen that morning from a cart and the pen-set from the window display on Peach Street.

And knowing what little he knew about Drumknott, he’d never ever get to those files. He watched as Drumknott locked them away in one of those filing cabinets that had five different locks on them and a clerk standing by it at most times as well.

Drumknott had then given Lipwig a look that asked him if he had nothing better to do with his time than stare at filing clerks, at which Lipwig had heard himself make a comment about heading out to find some lunch. His feet had carried him the rest of the way out of the Palace and to a stall that sold hot ham-and-cheese sandwiches, which he’d eaten with gusto.

He never knew what to think about Drumknott. How the hell did anyone survive being around Lord Vetinari all day long?

And yet he could not resist annoying him. It was like poking a bear, if that bear was the most boring man that Lipwig had ever met. As a kind of a test, to see if he could make him lose his composure.

Looking at him now on the street, it appeared to be an impossible task.

Lipwig quickened his pace as soon as he heard the familiar rattle of a mail coach on cobbles, so that he was close enough to Drumknott to hear Lady Sybil compliment the dragon for being a good boy and saw the flicker of a smile on Drumknott’s face.

Oh, that was interesting.

So he did smile, after all.

Jumping on the back of the coach and holding on was just as thrilling as it had been the first time he’d done it. Moving faster to the Post Office meant that he’d have some time to hatch out a plan on how to approach and then irritate Drumknott when he inevitably arrived with that package in his hands.

He was already looking forward to it.


End file.
